


Cardigan

by multilingualism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, POV Severus Snape, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Smoking, Soft Severus Snape, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29740755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multilingualism/pseuds/multilingualism
Summary: Severus Snape makes a promise he intends to keep.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 17
Kudos: 155
Collections: Best of SSHG





	Cardigan

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the lovely Foxyx's prompt: Molly never made Hermione a sweater, so Snape makes her one instead.  
> Edit: [here](https://foxyx.tumblr.com/post/644729382108364800/cardigan) is the beautiful art Foxyx made to accompany this story

Severus liked Muggle pubs for the anonymity they provided. No one was going to recognize him as Severus Snape, former Death Eater, turned hero of the light, but instead they would just see an unfriendly-looking guy dressed in all black, sitting by himself, nursing a beer and smoking a cigarette. It was a vice, but Severus thought he deserved a few vices after all of these years.

So, imagine his surprise when he saw a familiar pair of brown eyes staring at him from across the room.

Nothing about his face should have been an invitation for Granger to join him, but join him she did. He watched her make her way toward him, a short, glass tumbler in her hand. She took a hearty swig of it before taking the seat opposite his.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice rough with smoke.

“I don’t know. You have the most striking face. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Cut the crap, Granger. You know exactly who I am.”

“Do I?” she asked. “How fortunate I am to know you when I don’t even really know myself.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing as you, I imagine. Drowning my sorrows.” Severus rolled his eyes again, except this time it was accompanied by an annoyed sound. “What?” she said. “You know I’m right. No one comes to a pub to drink alone because they’re _happy_.”

“So, what are your sorrows? Did you get an imperfect performance review?”

“No, I actually finalized my divorce,” she said before taking another big sip. She grimaced but swallowed.

Severus suddenly regretted being so glib. “I am sorry to hear it.”

Granger shrugged. “It’s for the best. At least I don’t have to deal with his awful family anymore.”

He ordered them both another round, which Granger gladly accepted. Without much prompting, she began telling him stories about her life up until that point. Rather than being annoyed, however, Severus was almost grateful to just listen and not think about his own problems for once.

He also could not help but stare at the woman sitting across from him with her soft, chestnut curls and warm brown eyes. Occasionally she would move in such a way that allowed him to glance down the front of her dress, but Severus tried to be a gentleman and avert his gaze. Still, she was absolutely stunning. Was it weird for him to think that?

When they had finished their drinks, Severus thought they would be parting ways for good, but Granger stunned him by asking if he would like to come over and peruse her bookshelves. He nodded, thinking it was an odd request, but he agreed nevertheless. Severus was not exactly the social type but she was so beautiful, he might have agreed to anything she asked of him. That, and the alcohol might have clouded his judgment.

Granger hailed them a cab—they were both far too drunk to Apparate safely—and practically dragged him inside. But whereas she had been bubbly and chatty in the pub, Granger had become strangely silent. She sighed and stared out the window.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Severus wondered if it was something he had said or done. She nodded, but still her gaze told him her mind was somewhere else entirely. “Are you sure?”

Granger turned to look at him, before shaking her head slowly. She burst into tears. Severus had not been expecting that.

“And do you want to know the worst part? She never even made me a fucking sweater!”

Before their conversation in the pub, Severus would have no idea who “she” could have possibly referred to, but now he knew exactly. Severus watched the young woman sob and felt more than a little uncomfortable. Not only because of what the cab driver must think of the pair of them, but also because he was inexperienced in dealing with tears. Even as a teacher, he had avoided crying students like the plague, preferring to send them to one of the other staff members.

But tonight was different. He already knew exactly why she was crying and it pained him to see her upset. The response did not come naturally to him, but he rubbed her back, “It’s okay. I’ll—I’ll make you a sweater. Would you like that?”

Severus did not know why he had offered; he had never made a garment before in his life—through magic or otherwise. But it seemed like the right thing to do in that very weird moment. To his surprise, Granger stopped crying and stared up at him, her eyes locked in with his. Then she pulled him in for a kiss.

He tipped the driver double for the tears and subsequent makeout session, before Granger led him up to her place. Either plans had changed or “perusing her bookshelves” had been a euphemism that Severus was not yet familiar with, because they had had drunk, sloppy sex that night. Severus was glad that would not be the last time they would be intimate, but he was grateful for what it had led to.

And in the morning, when they were both struggling through their hangovers and she made them breakfast, he did have the opportunity to see what sorts of books she owned. He was, as expected, thoroughly impressed.

She stopped being Granger to him after that.

* * *

They were out one night, though for what reason, Severus could not recall now. And they had been drinking—not a very regular occurrence, in their defense—and walking home together, hand-in-hand. Hermione was singing and swinging his arm, much more boisterous than was her norm. Severus did not love her more when she was drunk, but he did love her when she was silly. He loved that someone who had such a serious nature could have moments where she let her guard down.

She stopped singing all of a sudden and Severus could feel her shiver. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders, which she snuggled into appreciatively before taking a big whiff of the collar.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked.

“You.”

“May I ask why?”

Severus bent down and cupped her face in his hands. Hermione yelped and told him her hands were cold, so Severus did the mature thing and put them under her top, against her bare skin. She tried to squirm away but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in closer for a kiss.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said in between kisses.

That was the first time either of them had used the word, even if the feeling had been brewing between them for quite some time. They were both a little stunned at her admission but soon enough the shock had faded and Severus was kissing her even more fervently, while Hermione slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans and gave his bum a gentle squeeze. Someone passing by whistled at them and they pulled apart self-consciously. They probably should not have been doing this under a lamppost for all to see.

“If I didn’t love you, would I have given you my jacket?” Severus said, savoring the feeling of the word on his tongue.

“I wouldn’t need your jacket if I had received the sweater I had been promised,” she said, crossing her arms. She was joking but if only she knew how serious he had been.

* * *

Severus was pleased that Hermione had not noticed his new scarf, his new hat, or even his lumpy new mittens. He could easily hide his thick new socks, which he could not wait to make a second pair of, but he did not want her to ask about any of them. He had spent many nights—those lonely nights when they could not be together—honing his craft. And when he would get stuck, and the books’ explanations evaded him, Severus would endure the embarrassment of asking an employee at his local yarn store for advice.

He knew it was a good exercise for him, to not be immediately perfect at something, but it certainly took a lot of courage to ask for help. But the ladies of the shop had come to learn his name and expect his arrival. Severus was almost tempted to join them on Thursdays for knitting circle but that felt like a touch too far, even with as much progress he had made that year coming out of his shell.

And when Severus came in and asked for help picking out a pattern for Hermione’s sweater, the employees were helpful, but warned him of the infamous “boyfriend sweater” and how it portended the end of a relationship. Severus was not the type to put stock in superstition but this one did make him a tad nervous. Probably because Hermione had come to mean so much to him and he could not bear the thought of losing her now.

But Severus told them it did not matter. He had promised her a sweater and so she would get one, simple as that. If a handmade garment spelled the end for them, then so be it. Severus had only known fate to be cruel, so maybe this was a fitting end to their endless summer afternoon.

* * *

Christmas marked the start of winter and their fifth month together. Summer flings were supposed to be just that—ephemeral and steamy. July was a great month for such a thing. But after that? They weren’t supposed to last well past August and into September. And they sure as Hell weren’t supposed to survive the autumn chill, let alone live to see snow on the ground.

And for once, Severus felt something beyond indifference for the holiday. He had finished his sweater—just in the nick of time and with a little help from his newfound friends—and wrapped it up in the perfect paper he had found in a shop window. Severus smoothed his hand over the silver moons and gold stars before Apparating to Hermione’s place.

“Is it time to open presents?” Hermione asked, handing him a hot cup of something.

Severus took a sip. He had no idea what it was but he definitely tasted whisky. “I’ve only just arrived.”

Hermione shrugged. “What’s the point of being an adult if we can’t open gifts whenever we want?”

Severus laughed. He could not argue with that logic. So he put down his drink before handing the carefully wrapped box to Hermione. She tore into it with uncharacteristic ferocity, ripping the stars and moons, popping the lid off the box, and pushing aside the tissue paper. But when she saw the contents, she stopped.

“Is this?” she asked, lifting her gift from the box. “ _The_ sweater?”

“Technically it’s a cardigan.” Hermione gave him a dirty look, before returning her gaze to his handiwork.

“And you made it?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, with an air of confidence that belied the evenings he spent ripping out stitches to get it just perfect.

“It’s my favorite color.”

“I know.” The amount of times she wore purple on their dates was adorable.

“Aw, you did the ‘H?’” she asked, referring to the letter he had added to the right side.

Severus had waffled on whether to include this detail since he did not know if it would bring up painful memories, but he decided the cardigan was enough of a departure from the Weasley design that it had become its own thing.

“And the buttons, they’re little stars! So cute.”

“To match the gold in the yarn of your initial,” he said. He might have pointed out that it also matched the wrapping paper he had meticulously selected but he was not about to pick a fight with her now.

But Hermione was apparently ready for a physical altercation because she leapt up to hug him, her arms squeezing around his middle. “Thank you so much! It’s perfect.”

Severus kissed the top of her head, warmed by her embrace and her very obvious gratitude.

* * *

“Hermione, where are you? We have to go,” Severus called up to her.

She appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing her cardigan. “Is it too warm for this?”

“It’s June, dear.”

“But we’re going to see a film. It’s so cold in the theater.” Severus rolled his eyes but he was secretly pleased that she liked wearing it so much. And that it had not cursed their relationship. “I’ll carry it. No big deal.”

“No, you’ll make me carry it,” Severus told her when she had descended.

“And that’s why I love you,” she pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek. “That reminds me, you still need to give me the pattern so I can make you one to match. I’ll put a little ‘S’ on it.” Hermione inhaled sharply. “We could get our pictures taken together and everything!”

“Alright, let’s go. I don’t want to miss any of the trailers,” he said, nudging her out the door.

“You’re no fun,” she teased.

“And yet you’re with me anyway.”

“It’s a mystery, isn’t it?” They kissed again.

“Okay, now we really have to go.”


End file.
